


Blue and Gold

by days4daisy



Category: Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Extra Treat, M/M, Season/Series 02, Secret Relationship, historical porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-18 16:50:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9394376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/days4daisy/pseuds/days4daisy
Summary: "What good's a special detail, major, if he's not looking after your health, huh?”Ben shoots him a knowing look. “My health, or your own?” Caleb grins, guilty as charged.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nisiedraws](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nisiedraws/gifts).



> A little treat for you, nisiedraws. You had me at "the removal of Tallmadge's beautifully tailored uniform" *.*

Caleb finds Ben alone in Sackett’s funhouse, tinkering with the grandmaster’s forgery device.

He’s on the warpath for Washington, as he's been since Long Island. A bit reckless, in Caleb's opinion. But he knows better than to stand in the way of Ben on a mission. Unless he needs standing in front of, and Caleb is up for a fight.

Caleb isn't after a fight tonight. But Ben needs a distraction.

A single candle's light flickers off the shed's walls. No windows in the wood, and the only door has been key-locked shut from the inside. Ben hunches at a work table, matching one set of script over another. Caleb hovers over him, feigning interest in the nuance of his penmanship. He rubs Ben's shoulders encouragingly. The muscle beneath is pulled tight as a drum. Ben huffs beneath his hands, but otherwise does not complain. Caleb begins to untie his neckerchief.

This, Ben picks up on. “What are you doing?” he asks. He has eyes made for candle light. Dark with a slow, simmering heat. Ben's cheek is still scratched from the brawl with Bradford's boys. Caleb would give the colonel a piece of his mind if he were here. Or a good fist to the bean.

“You’re all wound up, Ben,” Caleb tells him. "Lucky you don't stick like this."

“I need to concentrate.”

“This knot ain’t helping, Tallboy.”

He must sound reasonable. Ben frowns but relents. “All right.” He turns back to his work. Twin pens sweep parchment in equal, delicate strokes. Like the legs of dancers, matching in time. 

Caleb unwinds the cloth and coaxes circles into the nape of Ben's neck. After a minute, his fingers stray under Ben’s jacket.

Ben stiffens immediately. “This is helping me concentrate?” Caleb spies a hint of a smile.

“Well, yeah.” Caleb's eyes widen. “It’s not?”

“Caleb-”

“You’ve been at this for hours!" Caleb cuts in. "What good's a special detail, _major_ , if he's not looking after your health, huh?”

Ben shoots him a knowing look. “My health, or your own?” Caleb grins, guilty as charged.

For a minute, he thinks he has Ben. His old friend's smile ticks higher, an air of possibility between them.

But the moment passes, and Ben turns away. “I have work to do, Brewster.”

“Oh yeah? So do I.” Caleb’s work involves hands fully under Ben’s uniform jacket. 

“Caleb,” Ben admonishes. Caleb answers with his mouth on the back of Ben’s neck.

Ben’s head tips back, shocked straight on his chair. Caleb knows his teeth are grit without seeing his face. His brow is creased, straining to swallow a more audible reaction. “Hey, Ben,” Caleb murmurs against his skin. He’s rewarded by Ben’s shiver.

Caleb isn’t crazy then. He isn’t the only one who's been feeling the months since Long Island. It's been too long since Ben has let Caleb do this.

“Not here,” Ben hisses. He doesn't sound sure though, like he wants to be persuaded.

Caleb is more than happy to weigh in. “Door’s locked. No windows. No one’s looking for you this time of night. No one’s looking for me ever, if it ain’t you or Sackett.” A smirk to Ben’s scoff. “Hard walls. Back side of camp. Where else you want to do this?”

“Caleb,” Ben argues. It isn’t good enough. When Ben turns to protest, Caleb kisses him. Awkward angle, over Ben’s shoulder. Ben’s fingers scratch through his beard, a coaxing tug to tilt his head closer. With him distracted, Caleb is able to ease the uniform jacket from his shoulders.

Ben shakes his head when he manages to get free. Even in this light, Caleb sees the pink of his mouth. His face is flushed, and conflicting desires muddle his gaze. He sounds apologetic. “I need to-” Caleb comes around front, startling Ben with his second kiss.

Ben grabs his trench coat, using it to pull himself to his feet “Caleb,” he grumbles. But when Caleb shuts him up again, he doesn’t put up a fight. Caleb's trench coat hits the ground in a messy heap.

Caleb backs him up on a wall. Ben is taller than him by a good few inches, height put to good use arching straight against the wood. It's the perfect slant for Caleb to unbutton his waistcoat. His body is strong underneath; little Benny Boy, all grown up.

“Don’t need all this,” Ben argues. He speaks into Caleb’s beard, already light of breath.

“Fuck that,” Caleb says. “I ain’t seen you, and I want to.” He nuzzles Ben's ear. “Want to order me not to, _major_?”

“Shut up,” Ben grumbles, laughing. A shove forces Caleb back a step, but Ben grabs two hands full of his waistcoat and pulls him him back in. Caleb's forearm braces on the wall. 

When Caleb kisses him again, Ben lets him hear his appreciation. Caleb has to smother a smile. Ben’s come so far since their first time. Most of Ben's tricks, Caleb taught him. But there are a few little things that Caleb can’t take credit for. Still riles him to this day.

He sweeps a loose strand of Ben’s hair behind his ear. “No, Caleb,” Ben says, more serious.

Caleb curses under his breath, but he smirks in reluctant agreement. The clothes, Ben will let him have his way with. The hair would cause too much scandal. He gets it, as much as his fingers itch to touch.

He opens the rest of Ben’s waistcoat buttons. It parts in a stiff line, like ice cracked down the middle. Ben’s shirt billows without the waistcoat’s restraint. Ben grumbles as he struggles with Caleb’s. The waistcoat's buttons are tarnished, harder to slip through.

“We can’t all dress up in the blue and gold, Tallboy.” Caleb holds Ben’s gaze when his fingers stray to the trousers. The top button, undone. Then the next. Ben’s eyes lose focus, hands still on Caleb’s clothes. His shirt blouses free, falling to mid-thigh. 

Caleb takes in the fit of Ben's legs beneath the fabric. “How do you even move in these? Christ.” The words are taunt and praise.

“Are you just going to gawk at me?” Ben’s frustration is as evident as his desire.

Caleb eases fingers between the part in Ben’s slacks. The furrow between Ben’s eyes fades into surprise. Caleb could mess with him a little more. It would serve Ben right, after being such an arse these past few months. But that wouldn’t be all too fair to himself.

He eases Ben’s waistcoat off and sets it on one of Sackett’s nearby work tables. Ben’s shirt follows.

Caleb's eyes stray down his chest and stomach. He's built like a damn statue, marked with bruises from their campside brawl. Hand-shaped welts color his wrists, where Bradford's men grabbed his arms. A white circle marks the bullet scar on his left shoulder. Caleb grazes it with a thumb. “Rogers,” he mutters.

Ben urges his head up with a tap of two fingers. His hands are more active as his mouth takes control. Ben tugs his gray shirt from inside his slacks. It, too, hangs long, but length doesn’t stop Ben’s fingers from exploring underneath. It’s been too long since Caleb felt Ben on his skin. His fingers are rougher than Caleb remembers. Caleb is almost glad for it; the calloused touch puts Caleb at ease. 

Caleb parts his lips as his fingers part Ben’s slacks. He pushes them down Ben’s thighs. Caleb nips after Ben's tongue, earning a smirk that Caleb tastes as much as he feels. 

Ben has just started on Caleb’s slacks when Caleb pushes him off. He’s on his knees before Ben can ask what he’s doing. Caleb pulls Ben’s half-hard cock out. Ben’s knees twitch against Caleb’s arms. His dazed, “Caleb, wait. We can-” becomes a groan when Caleb plucks the head into his mouth.

Caleb knows what Ben wants to suggest. Joint handies against the wall. Or he’ll offer to kneel down; fancy that, a major willing to get his pretty knees dirty. He may even allow Caleb’s ultimate goal. But this isn't the right time or place for Caleb to have him completely.

Caleb slides hands up Ben’s thighs, gratified by Ben’s grip in his hair. “You done?” he asks.

Ben’s laugh is an exhale. “You bastard.” He drops his head back. “I’m done.” The sentence ends on a tight sound. Caleb’s tongue swipes the head of his cock and dips into the slit. 

“Might want to keep your eyes open there, Tallboy,” Caleb suggests. “Hate for you to miss something.”

“Arsehole,” Ben grumbles. Caleb doesn’t miss the deep breath he takes, or the haze in the eyes that lower back to Caleb.

Caleb holds Ben's gaze as he works him back into his mouth. His teasing tastes have been enough to harden him. Ben is nice and thick when Caleb inches him down. Appreciatively, Caleb opens his mouth wider.

He’s gratified by the heat that flushes Ben’s face. His eyes seem darker, even in the candlelight. The hand in Caleb’s hair fists, restless.

Caleb takes him down halfway and eases back. Ben’s eyes drift shut, then snap back open. He's too proud to risk more teasing; this is the Tallboy Caleb knows and loves. 

Caleb _does_ love him. He doesn’t say it much, but hell - it doesn’t need saying. Caleb shares the sentiment with the hands that canvas Ben’s legs. Ben’s groan says it back. He plucks loose splinters from the wall to stay grounded. His other hand scratches Caleb’s scalp, a bite of pressure that makes Caleb hum, and makes Ben hiss in turn. Caleb swallows back a chuckle; he'd hate to end this early.

Caleb drags his tongue up Ben’s length. Caleb enjoys the stretch of his mouth as much as he enjoys the sound of Ben’s breaths. They're being sucked in through parted lips, a measured attempt to keep silent. Few men are as disciplined as Ben Tallmadge. It’s a quality Caleb has always admired, and one he’s reveled in ruining when they're alone.

His jaw slacks, and he urges more of Ben into his mouth. Ben grunts above him, the clenched hand in his hair starting to hurt. Caleb likes it, shifts up on his knees to take him down in full. His beard scratches Ben’s legs. Ben’s next sound is higher. “Caleb, _God_." Caleb loves when he curses, with all due respect to his reverend father.

He begins to work in earnest, forward and back, delighting in every jump of Ben’s body. It’s so rare to get him like this. Alone. Private. No restrictions. 

“ _Caleb_ ,” is hissed out; Caleb knows this tone too. He follows it hungrily. Caleb pretends not to feel Ben trying to pry him off. Ben may outrank him, but when they're alone he doesn't get off the hook this easily.

Ben comes with a tense sound, somewhere between a curse and his name. His waist jolts forward, and his hand braces on Caleb's shoulder for balance. Caleb swallows for him, reveling in the juts between his lips. He drinks in every moment of Ben's aftermath, half-hard and still wet from Caleb’s mouth. Caleb lets him go, aware how swollen his mouth must be. Ben probably left pretty bruises on his shoulder too.

Ben’s thumb follows his hairline from brow to temple. His stare is bleary. “Your turn,” he mumbles.

“In a minute,” Caleb rasps. He sits back on his heels, hands braced on Ben’s knees. His trousers are still balled beneath them.

“Caleb-”

“In a minute, alright?” Caleb raises an amused brow. “What’s the point if you don’t stop to like something for once?”

Ben snorts, but he’s smiling. “Thank you,” he says. He thanks Caleb every time. As if Caleb doesn't want this just as much.

Caleb stands. “Not bad, huh?” He hooks an arm around Ben's shoulders.

Ben gives his open waistcoat a tug. “Not bad,” he agrees.

*The End*


End file.
